


Go Hard, Stay Soft

by BananaStickers



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Knotting, M/M, Nesting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Sex Chemistry, Smut, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStickers/pseuds/BananaStickers
Summary: Ryan Murray likes stability, the warm comfort of familiarity.  It's not something you get often in the NHL, but he's been lucky to be with the same team and same Omega for years.  Lucky until suddenly he's not, and he finds himself in New Jersey.Everything is new.  New apartment, new team, new coach, new restaurants, and yes...new Omega.Familiarity is good, but sometimes new can be good, too.  Really good.
Relationships: P. K. Subban/Ryan Murray, Ryan Murray/Boone Jenner (background)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 75





	Go Hard, Stay Soft

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to use a term similar to 'patriarchy' in this fic, but I realized that in an A/B/O universe the 'patriarchy' would likely be less sex-based and more dynamic-based with Alphas in charge. So I went with...'siredarchy', as 'sire' means to father a child. It's not perfect, but it's what I got!

New year, new team, new town, new...Omega.

Ryan Murray doesn’t like change.

That’s not to say he hates it; he knew, once he signed his first NHL contract, that change was going to be a constant in his life during his career. But he also knows that once he retires, he’s probably going to settle down in a small town somewhere, a place where things don’t really change, where he can finally enjoy some stability. A place where he can get comfortable.

He’d had the chance to get comfortable with the Blue Jackets. He’s 27 and he’d been with the same team his whole life. He got to wake up to the same familiar things every day: the same city, the same rink, the same favorite restaurants and bars, and for large parts of it the same captain and coach. Even his Omega had been the same the last few years. The Jackets’ defensive corps had always been a bit disarrayed, with an odd number of Alphas and Omegas, and with Ryan’s injury history he was slotted into various places in the lineup. That’s how he ended up soulbonding with Boone Jenner, his best friend and a forward, these last few years.

It perhaps wasn’t ideal in terms of bonding - there’s a reason you want that bond with your defensive partner - but on a personal level, it was great. There’s nothing better than being bonded to your best friend, and Ryan never had to question the sappy soulbond romance movies because he _knew_ how good it could be. Even after the trade their bond hung on stubbornly, all the way up to training camp before it finally snapped. It feels weird to have your head all to yourself with no one else in there. Lonely, a lot of times.

Fortunately, it’s hard to be too lonely around his new defensive partner. P.K. Subban is certainly not the stereotypical Omega. He’s loud - no... _boisterous_ is a better word for it - extroverted, and friendly. He is everything that Ryan should be according to the stereotypes, but is not. Ryan’s never been the typical Alpha, so an Omega skirting outside the norm doesn’t bother him at all. Boone was a gregarious goofball too, so he’s got some experience with it.

“You’re quiet,” P.K. says to him on the second day of training camp as they’re tying their skates. There’s a little uptick at the end of it, like it’s really a question and not a statement.

Ryan’s still reeling from his bond with Boone suddenly gone, not even being able to see him in person, and he’s momentarily caught off guard. “Uh,” he says. “Yeah. It’s not cause I’m unhappy, if that’s what you’re wondering. Just getting used to everything.”

“Aw man, I get it,” P.K. says. “We’ll get you settled here in no time. Looks like we might be paired up this year, huh?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Ryan says, giving P.K. a genuine smile, and P.K. beams back at him. He catches Ryan chuckling silently at one of his jokes just before they head out onto the ice, and looks delighted.

“So you do find me funny!” P.K. says, as if he wasn’t sure. He grabs Ryan and gives him a quick ruffle of his hair, laughing when Ryan squirms and protests. “Murr, we’re gonna have an awesome time.”

“I bet,” Ryan says, still laughing.

Training camp goes pretty well, and nobody treats him with kid gloves which is a refreshing change of pace. Of course, there was nothing overt with the Blue Jackets, but Ryan could see the faces of his coaches and sometimes even his teammates when he went hard into the boards: the cringe, the wince, the expectation that he was hurt. He knows his injury history isn’t great, but he doesn’t need to be bubble wrapped.

Nobody on the Devils treats him that way. P.K. even makes a point to bump into him, knock him around a little, which is something the Jackets would never have done. It’s all playful, although Ryan gets the suspicion that there’s a little something behind it, a test to see what boundaries Ryan has as an Alpha. But if P.K. wants to be put in his place or something...well, Ryan’s the wrong Alpha for that, and he won’t pretend to be otherwise. So he takes the ribbing, and gives it back sometimes, and P.K. seems happy with it.

Ryan quickly learns that P.K.’s love language is _teasing_ , and by the time they finish their first season series against Boston, P.K. is regularly shredding apart Ryan’s fashion sense - or, more accurately, his lack thereof. “It’s not that bad,” Ryan groans, after P.K. tugs on his tie. Yeah, it’s a boring solid color, but it works.

“It could be better, Murr,” P.K. protests. “Man, you got so much potential. You should let me dress you sometime.”

Out of his peripheral vision, Ryan can see Andreas Johnsson - another newcomer to the team - whip his head up. Picking out clothes is a very traditional Alpha responsibility for an Omega; the other way around is practically unheard of.

Ryan’s never subscribed to that bullshit, though. P.K. is certainly the better dresser, so why read anything deeper into it than that? “Sure, whatever,” R-yan says, and P.K. laughs, pleased and loud.

On the ice, he finds himself surprised at the viciousness of some of their opponents towards P.K. Ryan’s always slid under the radar: he’s quiet, rarely chirps, he’s a Good Old Canadian Alpha Boy, so he doesn’t provoke the response that P.K. seems to. He’s not sure whether it’s due to P.K.’s extremely creative repertoire of insults that he pulls out every game and liberally offers to opponents, or perhaps it’s because he’s one of the public faces of the game. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he’s a Black Omega that refuses to be timid and submissive. Either way, Ryan finds himself in more scrums that he can remember, yanking guys off of P.K. and trying to protect his partner.

P.K. pulls him aside in the showers after their fourth game. “Hey, Murr. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing out there, but if you’re jumping in cause you feel like you _have_ to protect me...I can take care of myself.”

“Man, you’re better at fighting than me,” Ryan says, and he can see P.K.’s shoulders lower an inch or two at that. “I don’t have to, but I want to. Cause I know you’ll protect me too. We got each other.”

That seems to be the exact right thing to say, because P.K. hoots. “Fuck yeah we do,” he says. “Cool man, I just wanted to make sure.”

P.K. doesn’t say a word to him about fighting after that, but sometimes they lock eyes in the scrums, and P.K. always gives him a wide, unabashed grin, even if someone is trying to punch his face in. He is certainly an interesting man, and Ryan tells Boone that on one of their calls.

“He sort of reminds me of you,” Ryan says on Facetime. He’s cooking dinner, but he glances over to see Boone’s eyebrows go up.

“Oh yeah?” Boone asks.

“He just wants to be himself and not worry about any of the stupid Omega expectations or stereotypes. I mean, you know.”

Boone snorts. “Yeah, I know. You think, uh...you think he wants you to put him down?”

The stereotype is that Omegas act out when they want to be put in their place. It took more than one bond and numerous years before Boone admitted he liked that sometimes, the desire locked so far away that Ryan had never even felt a hint of it through their bond. He was happy to do it for Boone, although he always felt like he did a shit job of it. It’s not something he particularly enjoys, and he knows that doesn’t make him a bad Alpha, no matter what society says.

“I don’t know,” Ryan answers truthfully. “I guess I could ask.”

“Don’t you know, big bad Alpha, that you’re just supposed to _know_ what your Omega needs?” Boone teases, and they both laugh. What a crock of shit. “Anyway, gonna be interesting to have him in your head with you.”

“For sure. Although, I do miss you.” Ryan keeps his head down on the soup he’s stirring when he says it, not wanting to see Boone’s reaction. They’re not dating or anything, although sometimes he thought about asking, in that secret closed-off part of his mind that he didn’t allow through the soulbond.

If Boone feels the same, he never let anything through either. But his quiet, wounded “Me too,” makes Ryan finally glance up and over at him. He’s got a smile on his face, but it looks forced.

Ryan’s not quite sure what to say - doesn’t want to confess anything over video, and he can’t do it over their bond anymore - so he lets the moment pass. “Well, it won’t be forever. You know who you’re bonding with this year?”

“Eh, still up in the air,” Boone says. “Cam or Tex, if I had to guess. They still don’t know whether they wanna soulbond the power-play units together, or they wanna do vets and young guys.”

“Shit, you’re a veteran now, huh?”

Boone gives him a lopsided grin. “Got the ‘A’ to prove it. Pretty crazy, huh?”

“Pretty crazy,” Ryan agrees. Sometimes it’s hard to believe they’re already 27. “Well, keep me updated.”

“Nosy,” Boone says fondly, but Ryan knows he will. “When are you bonding?”

“Dunno. Haven’t been told yet.”

“Huh. I’m sure you’ll find out soon,” Boone tells him.

His words prove prescient, as Ryan gets pulled aside the next day before practice by P.K. “Murr, I just heard,” he says. “The magic happens next week, if you know what I mean.” He winks lecherously, and then lowers his voice to a loud stage-whisper. “I’m talking about when you fuck me.”

“Oh is that what you’re talking about,” Ryan laughs. “I thought, I dunno, maybe it was something else.”

“Don’t lie, I know you been lookin’ to get a piece of this sweet ass ever since you saw me.”

“Can’t dispute that,” Ryan says. “Uh, do you guys do it in a team space, or privately?” The Blue Jackets always had a heat room; it was supposed to be better for team bonding or some shit, even if you were technically only soulbonding with one other person. Ryan knows it’s about 50/50 around the league, whether it’s done solo or group.

“There’s a team room, but I negotiated a private one into my contract.” P.K. pretends to brush his hands down his front. “Can’t be showing everyone these goods for free, y’know.”

Ryan squints. “You...but you shower with the team, we’ve all seen you naked - “

“Ah,” P.K. says, flapping his hand at Ryan. “Semantics. Details, Murr! You know what I mean.”

Either way, Ryan’s happy for it. He’d always found it weird to be with the team during what, in his mind, should be an intimate moment for two; he knows some guys love it, being practically suffocated in a miasma of soulbond heat and rut, but Ryan’s not sure he’s ever been so fucking awkward as the time he looked up mid-thrust and caught the eye of a teammate. Dubi, as he remembers. Well, he _doesn’t_ want to remember, because the memory still makes him want to die of embarrassment, but anyway. “That’s great,” he tells P.K. “Should we like...talk about it first?”

“You wanna talk about it?” For a moment, Ryan’s afraid P.K. is going to make fun of him, but sure enough that big smile appears on his face. “Hell yeah, Murr. Why don’t I come over to your place this weekend?”

It’s normally a blatant violation of COVID protocol, but that’s been lifted for soulbond pairs; P.K. is officially in his bubble for the rest of the season. “It’s a date,” Ryan says, and P.K. obviously finds the choice of words hilarious as he hoots a laugh.

“Take me to dinner, big boy,” P.K. demands and then waltzes away, so...apparently, Ryan needs to find a suitable restaurant.

(He asks around, and learns pretty quickly that P.K. loves sushi. Luckily, Jersey has a few better sushi spots than Ohio, so he’s got lots of choices.)

P.K. shows up at his door exactly at their agreed upon time on Saturday. He somehow manages to look both comfortable and sharp, that elusive ‘upscale casual’ that Ryan has never been able to pull off, but P.K. looks like he could stroll into the seediest bar or the hippest restaurant and not look terribly out of place at either. “Murr,” P.K. says, looking around his new apartment. “I love you man, but we’re gonna heat at my place, okay?”

“Hey, cut me some slack, I just moved in,” Ryan protests, and - yeah, okay, it’s a little sad and empty. He and Boone had always shared a place, and he’s not the kind of guy to get attached to stuff, so he really didn’t have too much to lug to New Jersey. He knows he needs to go shopping, he just...sort of hates that shit, and hasn’t quite yet.

“You need my help,” P.K. declares, and then grabs Ryan’s hand and pulls him down the hallway, towards the only conceivable place a bedroom could be in an apartment this size. He checks back a few times for Ryan’s reaction, and Ryan gets the feeling this is another test: an Omega dragging an Alpha by his wrist is unusual. Ryan doesn’t mind though, and he follows along with a smile.

P.K. heads straight for his closet, immediately flipping through the hanging clothes like they’re a card catalogue in a library. “Murr,” he says, sounding surprised and glancing back. “You know, some of this shit’s not half bad.”

“That’s what I’m saying - “

“But you don’t wear it!”

It’s true, Ryan has mostly chosen more conservative picks to wear with the Devils. At least with the new team, he doesn’t want to stand out too much until he’s a little more comfortable with everyone. “I’ll wear it for you,” Ryan says, and that stops P.K. in his tracks.

“Yeah?” P.K. says, turning slowly, like he can’t quite believe it. “Whatever I want?”

“Within reason,” Ryan says. “I mean, I’ll wear whatever here in this apartment, but you want me to go out to a restaurant you better not pick like, a g-string thong.”

“You got one of those?!”

“Well no,” Ryan admits. “Just as an example.”

“Oh, I’ll remember that,” P.K. says, waggling a finger at him and returning to the task at hand.

Ryan ends up with two pants, four shirts, three ties, and two jackets on the bed. “These are _good,”_ P.K. says, pointing at what he’s picked out, and then pointing to the closet. “These are _bad.”_

“Mmm,” Ryan says, squinting, looking back and forth, trying to keep the smirk off his face. “I’m still confused as to which ones you like?”

“Oh I like you bad Murr, just not in clothes.”

P.K. is hovering close now, so Ryan decides to take a chance, reach out for P.K.’s hand. He’d meant to just brush their fingers together, but instead P.K.’s wrist bumps into his palm, and he automatically makes a loose fist around it, just like how P.K. was holding him earlier.

This way is much more traditional; the Alpha with a grasp on his Omega, holding them by the wrist. P.K. looks down at where Ryan has him held, and for a moment Ryan’s afraid he’s overstepped - P.K. isn’t in heat yet, P.K. isn’t really his Omega - but then he looks back up at Ryan, and there’s a small smile there, almost hesitant, like he doesn’t want to admit he’s enjoying it. They smile at each other for a moment like dopes, and then P.K. knocks a shoulder into him. “Take me to dinner bro, I’m hungry.”

Ryan wears what seems to be P.K.’s favorite outfit of his, and takes him out. “Oh shit,” P.K. exclaims when he sees the restaurant that Ryan chose. “I haven’t tried this place before, have you?”

“Nope, just heard good reviews.”

“Fuck, I love sushi.”

“I know,” Ryan says, and P.K. blinks at him. He shrugs. “I asked around.”

P.K. blinks again, like he can’t quite believe what he’s heard, and then leans forward and kisses Ryan’s cheek. It’s a big enthusiastic smack and Ryan giggles at it. “Not bad Murr, not bad,” he says, pulling on his mask.

He hasn’t been out to dinner one-on-one with any of his teammates, and to be honest he’s a little nervous. The shit that he likes talking about is boring to most people. Well - boring to most NHLers, at least. He doesn’t keep up with the latest trends, is way behind on the newest TV shows, his taste in music is not exactly conventional. He prefers to eat dinner with a group, so he can sit back and listen, but that’s not possible here.

P.K. doesn’t let him be shy, though. He controls the conversation, but doesn’t dominate it, and even manages to look interested when Ryan talks about playing guitar. Honestly, it’s nice, and Ryan laughs his way through dinner with P.K.’s sense of humor. “I guess we should talk business,” P.K. says, as they’re halfway through dinner. “Unless you wanted to wait till after.”

“We can talk now,” Ryan says. With COVID, the restaurant has set up what looks like bubbles outdoors: tiny enclosed areas with a space heater, a table, and chairs. It’s about as private of a conversation place as they can have in public. “Guess I just wanted to see if you had any strong visions of what you wanted to do.”

P.K. sets his chin on his hand. “You’re the Alpha, Murr. Aren’t you supposed to tell me?”

Ryan can tell he’s making a face, because P.K. chuckles. “If you want me to, I will. But, uh.” Ryan frowns; this next part isn’t something he particularly wants public, but he thinks he can open up to P.K. “But I’m not your typical Alpha meathead that just takes what he wants. If it’s not good for you, it’s not good for me. So, I wanna know what makes it good for you. I mean, if that’s me taking charge - “

“No,” P.K. says quickly. “Naw, not really. I can’t say I’m a big fan of a teammate and friend trying to take over the show. I like it more mutual.”

Ryan doesn’t miss the way he says _teammate and friend_ ; maybe Boone’s right, that P.K. does want someone to put him down, but only a lover, someone he’s ready to give his heart to. That’s not Ryan’s place, though. “I can do mutual,” Ryan says. “I, um, I’m into like, eating you out.” Fuck, that sounds awkward.

P.K. picks up on it right away. “Murr, are you blushing?” he says. “Look at you, you’re fucking adorable.”

“You’re an asshole,” Ryan shoots back playfully, and P.K. winks.

“You just told me you’re into my asshole, so…”

“Oh my god,” Ryan groans, and they both burst out laughing. “You’re terrible. Can’t wait till you’re in heat so you stop with those jokes.”

“Shows how much you know, these jokes never stop, not even in heat.” P.K. smiles at him. “I like a fast knot, though. I mean I really like kissing, and foreplay, and all that stuff - eating me out, right - but like, first thing I’m gonna want is your knot. A-S-A-P man. Then we can get to that other stuff.”

“Do you want me to bite you then, too? Or wait til round two?”

“Hmm,” P.K. says, tapping his chin. “We’ll play that by ear, huh?”

“Okay,” Ryan agrees. “So you just want me to come over to yours?”

“I have one of those heat level detection devices since I’m not using the team room. A little portable one. They’re inducing me into heat around 3p on Saturday, so like...I dunno...how long does it take you to go into rut?”

Despite his many failings at being a traditional Alpha, Ryan’s rut has never been a problem. “As soon as I can smell your heat it’ll only take me a few minutes.”

“Ooh,” P.K. says. “Overachiever right here. That’s good, cause like I said - your knot. ASAP.”

“I got you,” Ryan tells him, and P.K. beams.

They have two more games until the team heat, and that’s all anyone seems to talk about. “I think these assholes already soulbonded together, what the fuck,” someone yells across the locker room at Nathan Bastian and Mikey McLeod, who are giggling at something only they know.

“You two are gonna make us all look bad in the heat room, knock it off,” Miles Wood jokes, which sets off a fresh round of teasing.

“Yeah, well these two aren’t even gonna be in the heat room,” pipes up a voice, pointed towards Ryan and P.K. That’s Damon Severson making the accusation, although it’s another friendly tease from the tone of his voice.

“They won’t let me!” P.K. shrieks. “Management knows I’d show all you fuckers up, and you’d be so disappointed with your partners - “

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by playful jeers and boos, and P.K. turns towards Ryan and winks, and he has to hold his hand up to his mouth to hide the laugh.

“Whaddaya think, new guy, you ready for this one here?” Kyle Palmieri asks Ryan as they’re getting ready to head out onto the ice, jerking his thumb at P.K. “Mister best-sex-you-ever-had?”

P.K. gasps theatrically. “Palms, that’s so kind of you to recognize it.”

“Mister best-sex-you-ever-had _according_ to him?” Kyle clarifies, winking at P.K.

Ryan’s not sure if he’s ready, but… “I’m looking forward to it,” he tells Kyle truthfully.

“We’re all looking forward to it, cause maybe your bond will calm him down a little,” Kyle teases, before getting up and ambling out to the hallway to take his spot in the walk-out line.

P.K. snorts softly. “Or maybe our bond will get you a little louder, eh Murr?”

“Maybe we’ll both be better for it,” Ryan says, and P.K.’s grin softens.

“I guess that’s the point, huh? Yeah, I hope so.” They both sit there for a moment before P.K. pops up, holds out a hand. “Ready to go, partner?”

“Let’s do it,” Ryan says, taking P.K.’s offered hand, who cheers and yanks him to his feet.

Even without the soulbond, they have a good two games before their heat. Sometimes just staying healthy is a win for Ryan, but playing well and enjoying himself are big positives, too. “It’s been good,” he tells Boone on their next Facetime, on the eve of his bond with P.K. “Never thought I’d say how much I like New Jersey, but…”

“You’re gonna be driving like an asshole before you know it, Murr,” Boone laughs. “You excited for your rut?”

“I am,” Ryan admits. “It’s weird having nobody in your head. I mean, our bond seemed to last the full twelve months most times, right? So you were always there with me. Just when it was getting ready to snap, we’d bond again and there you were, strong as ever.” He misses Boone being right there with him, although it’s not something he’s ready to admit.

Boone’s expression looks like he’s eating something sour, so maybe he feels the same way. “Yeah, it’s kinda weird. I don’t have to wait much longer though. Just a few days after you, it’s me an’ Tex. Wonder if I’ll learn French?”

“More likely your head is gonna be filled with French and you won’t understand a damn word.”

Boone sticks out his tongue. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Murr. Maybe you’ll pick up some fashion sense from Subban.”

Ryan shrugs; he’s heard literally every dig at his clothes imaginable by now. “I offered P.K. to help pick out my clothes, so even without the soulbond, you may be right.”

“Really?” Boone lets out a low whistle. “How very progressive of you, Murr. You never let me pick out your clothes.”

“You never asked.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” Boone says, and - _next time?_ Ryan wants to ask, but Boone moves quickly to another topic. “I assume you have your gift?”

Ah, the gift, the present from the Alpha to the Omega. Traditionally, it’s been a symbol of what the Alpha can provide before the Omega allows themselves to be bred; that’s no longer true for all but the most orthodox religious sects, but most Alphas still like giving gifts before a soulbond. Even though Ryan finds the practice to be somewhat outdated, he has to admit he likes it too. It makes his Alpha hindbrain pleased to give something to an Omega, watch them accept it - accept _him_ \- before they engage in the most intimate activity he can think of. “I do, but it’s not really, like...the typical thing.”

“Murr, you once wrote me a song for your gift. I think I’m well aware of how ‘typical’ your gifts are.”

“Hey,” Ryan protests. He worked hard on that song. “You said that was the best gift you ever got.”

“It was! I’m just sayin’, you’re not the type of dude to roll up with a candy bar or whatever, and I know it. So? What is it?”

“A donation to his charity.” Ryan shrugs. “Like, I don’t know him very well, you know? But one thing he’s super passionate about is his charity work. Maybe next year I’ll know his favorite foods or a cool gadget I can get him, but for now I think this might be what he appreciates most. Or maybe not, shit, I dunno.”

“Stop getting nervous,” Boone chides him fondly. “That sounds perfect. I bet he’ll appreciate the hell outta you, Murr. You’re a good Alpha, bud. One of the best I know.”

“Thanks, man.” Ryan takes a deep breath; Boone’s reassurance means a lot to him. “Guess I should get to sleep.”

“Yeah, big day tomorrow, you ain’t gonna be sleeping for awhile huh?” Boone winks at him, a goofy yet somehow lascivious gesture. “Have fun, big boy.”

“Oh my god, don’t call me - whatever. You too, Boone. Don’t scare Tex too badly,” he says, and ends the call to Boone’s laughter.

He gets as much sleep as he can, and he wakes up to so many messages he decides he won’t attempt to backscroll; the team chat is off the charts in the morning with anticipation and a whole lot of chirping. Ryan can tell when the team arrives at the arena, because the texting pretty much dies off as they greet each other in person and break off, Alphas and Omegas, to start the process. Ryan does get a quick note from Palms wishing them both well and bonding success, so that’s nice.

He tries to remember Boone’s reassurance as he gets dressed in the outfit P.K. said he liked. It’s not a suit, thank god, but it’s a nice button-up with the jeans that he never wears because they’re just a touch too tight for his usual comfort. They hug everything and everywhere and he can’t wait to get them off.

Then again, there’s not exactly a shortage of reasons why he wants them off.

He’s at P.K.’s house at 3p and lets himself in with the provided code. It’s a large house befitting a professional athlete, but he can already smell the first wafts of heat from somewhere upstairs. _I’m here,_ he sends a text to P.K. _Just let me know when you’re ready._

 _Come up now_ , comes the quick text, and - huh. That’s a surprise. Most Omegas want their privacy until they’re deep in the throes of heat, and he can smell that P.K.’s not there yet. But his wish is Ryan’s command, especially today, so he climbs the ornate staircase and finds himself right outside of P.K.’s bedroom. He’s never been here before, but all he has to do is follow his nose. “Murr,” P.K. calls, so Ryan opens the door and steps inside.

The heat is stronger here, and Ryan can feel his jaw drop open automatically, letting the sensation coat his mouth, waft up to his olfactory nerves. P.K. is on the bed, lounging in a pair of smart silk boxers and eating cubes of cheese. Along the headboard, there are five very carefully placed pillows and Ryan blinks at them. Just five pillows? Most Omegas like a significantly larger nest; Ryan has never seen one so small. Is P.K. perhaps not finished? But then, why was he called up? “Murr!” he calls when Ryan appears. He seems to be still mostly level-headed. “Well look at you, shit. You clean up nice!”

“You want me...here?” Ryan asks, because he’s still not sure. With team heats, he’s never been allowed to see the Omegas early, and Boone admitted to him once that he preferred it that way anyway; he wanted to fully nest first, and P.K.’s nest sure looks unfinished.

“Yes I do,” P.K. says firmly. “See, you know what never made sense to me, Murr? Like, all these Alpha traditions - you give the Omega a gift, you thank the Omega - the problem is, they all happen deep in heat. I don’t know about anyone else, but when I’m bad into heat, you could gift me a wet plastic bag and slap my ass and I’d be ecstatic about it cause my brain goes stupid. Fuck that, you know? I wanna be clear-headed for this stuff.”

“I think those traditions were actually originally meant for the Omega’s family,” Ryan says, stepping into the room slowly. “Like, the gifts and the thanks, I mean.”

“That makes it worse!” P.K. snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, hard pass. Fight the siredarchy, right bud? Besides, I already got my nest made. I’m easy, Murr. Low maintenance. No weird blanket forts here.” P.K. pats the pillows behind him, looking proud.

“It’s very nice,” Ryan says, because complimenting on Omega’s nest is just what you do, even though it just looks like a regular bed to him; when Boone made a nest, you _knew_ it. Still, every Omega is different, Ryan learned that fast. It stands to reason there would be Omegas who like a small nest, or maybe even ones who don’t nest at all.

He takes another step into the room, sniffing the air again. Just in the last few minutes, P.K.’s heat has picked up; probably something to do with the presence of an eligible Alpha. He’s still not soulbond ready, but Ryan feels like he could swim in the pheromones swirling in this room right now. P.K. doesn’t try to hide his laugh, although Ryan notices his face is getting shiny with sweat now as he sinks deeper into his heat. “Like what you smell, Murr?”

He does. It’s so different from Boone, who always sort of smelled like the outdoors to Ryan, pine and timber and fresh air. (“I smell like _Canada,”_ Boone had once told him proudly. “So fucking Canadian I even heat that way!”) P.K. smells like...the warmth of a kitchen in winter, with a cake baking in the oven. “Cake,” he blurts out, incredibly undignified, and P.K.’s eyebrows go up.

“No shit. You know how most guys describe it?” When Ryan shakes his head, P.K. smirks and sits up on his elbows. “Dark chocolate, if you can believe it.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, because, um. “That’s, uh, wow.”

“Like maybe I do smell like chocolate, but they always say ‘dark’ chocolate. I wonder fuckin’ why!” P.K. says. He seems to find it amusing, at least. “So cake, yeah. Murr, I like that one. What did you bring me for my gift? Gotta hurry up, I’m startin’ to lose my mind.”

Of course, the gift. Ryan crosses the room, sinks down to one knee as per tradition, and pulls out a receipt from his back pocket (with a little more difficulty than he usually has - goddamn tight jeans). “For you,” he says, presenting the paper with his eyes averted down to the floor.

P.K. makes a happy noise and plucks the receipt from his hand, and then...nothing. He’s silent for a long, long moment, and Ryan’s anxiety kicks up a notch; he can’t even see P.K.’s expression, isn’t supposed to look until P.K. accepts him and his gift. But it makes it so much worse. Did he read this whole thing wrong? Shit.

“Murr,” P.K. finally says, a soft and solemn tone, and then there’s a hand on his jaw to accept him, so he can finally look up. P.K. is looking down at him, and the smile he’s offering is softer than anything Ryan has seen from him before. A little secret thing that’s brand new. “A donation to my charity, huh?”

“I know it’s important to you, and...I wasn’t sure…”

“It’s perfect,” P.K. cuts him off. “Fucking perfect. Nobody’s done this for me for years. Pricey, back in Montreal, I…” He gets a wistful look on his face - Ryan gets a feeling that Price is perhaps to P.K. what Boone is to him - and squeezes Ryan’s jaw. “I accept your gift, Murr. Now get up here and put your dick inside me.”

“Fast knot, right?”

“Fast knot,” P.K. agrees. “But then after that, hoo boy, that’s when the good stuff starts.”

The knot is usually the ‘good stuff’ here, so Ryan’s interest is piqued, but he can feel his rational thought slipping away as P.K.’s heat spikes higher, like an icicle as the seasons turn to spring, _drip drip drip_ until the only thing left is his rut and his Omega splayed out on the bed. Yeah, _his_ Omega, because that’s exactly what P.K. is right now. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, and instead of answering, P.K. hauls him up on the bed and presses their mouths together in a messy, hot tangle.

The first time almost feels like when Ryan was 16: scrambling to get P.K.’s boxers and Ryan’s clothes off (of course the fucking jeans get twisted), desperate, quick kisses, hands groping everywhere. He tries to be mannerly, pausing at P.K.’s entrance to solemnly entone the traditional thank-you, but P.K. swipes at his arm.

“Thank me later cause you mean it, not cause of some stupid ritual,” he says. “Now for god’s sake, gimme that knot.”

If Ryan’s good at anything, it’s following directions, so that’s exactly what he does. The heat pheromones still aren’t quite built up enough for the soulbond bite, but P.K. is tighter than most heat sex, with his slick production still not fully ramped up. He watches for any signs of pain, but P.K. offers none, urging him on, and the knot is fast. “Yeah, there you go,” P.K. says with a goofy grin, his legs set on Ryan’s hips. “Good man.”

“Well, you wanted it fast,” Ryan mumbles. It _was_ fast. Almost embarrassingly so.

P.K. hums, strokes a hand through Ryan’s hair. “You wanna know why I like a fast one?”

“Why?”

“Tell me, Murr, you feel a little more clear-headed than you did when you walked in here?” He does; the knot has taken the edge off, and he says so. P.K. nods, triumphant. “What we do in here, I don’t want it to be just dictated by biology. I want you and me. Clear eyes, full hearts, all that shit. Same reason I want you here early before the heat really hits. I wanna be Subbanator and Murr. Not Alpha and Omega.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. That’s new, but...he likes the idea. “Yeah, I like that.”

“Cool.” P.K. grins, wiggling his hips where they’re still knotted together. “I guess we’re stuck, can you think of something to do?”

They’re not soulbonded yet, but Ryan’s not that stupid; it’s obvious that P.K.’s angling for a kiss, so he bends down to give one. It turns into something long and slow, as passionate here as P.K. is on the ice, and they kiss til a beeping interrupts from the side dresser. “Hmm?” Ryan says, peering up at the noise.

“That’s the heat sensor,” P.K. says. “We’re primed to bond, baby.”

Just the words send his teeth clicking together, a shiver of those ancient instincts - _bite, claim, bond_ \- but if Ryan’s good at anything, it’s patience. “I’ll do it now if you want. But I can get you off another time or two first.”

“Is that what you want, Murr?”

Ryan licks his lips, nods. Yeah, he wants to taste P.K., even more than he wants to bite him...for the moment, at least. “Uh huh. I do want.”

“Guess I can’t go against the Alpha’s wishes,” P.K. says, with the air of someone who goes against them quite often. Ryan’s knot is down, so he slides out and down the bed.

P.K.’s thighs are a glistening sheen of slick. There’s Ryan’s come there too, a bright white trail that dribbled when he pulled out, and he slides his fingers through it. He hadn’t expected to, but he suddenly feels fiercely protective of P.K., his only objective right now to make him feel as good as he’s made Ryan feel. “You’re beautiful,” he says genuinely, lifting his fingers to his mouth and sucking, tasting both of them at the same time.

“Shucks Murr, you don’t gotta say that,” P.K. says. “I’m already easy for you, here.”

“I mean it. I’m not just like...saying it.”

P.K. bites his lip. “Oh yeah? Well, thanks. And now I think you said something about getting me off?”

Ryan licks a line up P.K.’s thigh - that won’t get him off, but he can’t resist - until he gets right between P.K.’s legs. He is perfectly groomed, immaculately neat, and slick gushes out against his tongue when he licks against P.K.’s hole. “Fuck,” P.K. groans, spreading his legs further.

“Fuck,” Ryan echoes. P.K. tastes amazing, and he could get lost in this, licking and sucking and listening to the noises P.K. is making above him. Halfway through P.K.’s first orgasm he curls his fingers in Ryan’s hair and then freezes; Ryan can feel his hand trembling. Yanking an Alpha’s hair is bad manners. Ryan could not give one fuck about manners right now, though. “You can,” he mumbles. “Yeah, of course you can.”

“Murr,” P.K. groans, turning his name into a low, long rumble. He keeps a hand on Ryan’s hair through the rest of his first orgasm and into the second and third, too, and when Ryan comes back up for air, gasping, he’s suddenly the desperate one.

“Do you wanna - “ he asks breathlessly, and P.K. nods furiously.

“Knot. Please.”

“Bite?”

“God, yeah,” P.K. says.

This time when Ryan sinks in, P.K. is soaking wet, a frictionless glide that still feels amazing. “You’re so good,” Ryan says to him, probably the most forceful and fierce thing he’s ever said to P.K., and P.K. chokes and clings onto him as he thrusts.

“Come on, baby,” P.K. urges him, tossing his head back and arching against the sheets, exposing his neck. “Come on, Murr, come _on.”_

Ryan’s never been that adept at coordinating his orgasm with the soulbite, so he doesn’t wait; he doesn’t want to wait, not when an Omega is begging him, exposing his neck for him. Still thrusting, he pins P.K.’s shoulders to the bed, leans down, and sinks his teeth in.

P.K. goes slack underneath him, mouth open in a silent gasp, and pleasure bursts brilliantly from that part of his brain that has been sadly quiet without a soulbond this last month. It radiates out, down his spine and through his limbs until he can’t distinguish where his pleasure ends and P.K.’s begins, and with a growl he sinks deep and comes, teeth still embedded in P.K.’s neck.

He shudders through the aftershocks of his orgasm until it turns into a bone-deep satisfaction - again, he’s not sure if it’s his, or P.K.’s, or both - finally loosens his jaw and licks at the wound, kissing it closed. P.K. starts purring immediately, a loud sound of enjoyment, and Ryan smiles against his neck. If P.K. is happy, he’s happy.

That sentiment obviously goes through the bond because P.K. kicks up his purr and actually nuzzles against Ryan. “Y’mean it?” he asks muzzily, drunk on the endorphins.

“‘Course,” Ryan says, leaning into the affection.

“You’re a good one, Murr. Good Alpha,” he proclaims, and Ryan can tell the authenticity of that statement even without the bond.

They lounge together in a tight cuddle after the blood is licked away and the knot has gone down. P.K. is dozing, but something is keeping Ryan awake, a small niggle at the back of his mind. This first hour, right after the bond, it can be tough to pick apart their thoughts, and Ryan has to really concentrate to figure out the issue, but once he does: “Where’re you going?” P.K. asks as Ryan gets up. He looks alarmed.

“I’ll be back, I promise. Just gotta find something.”

“Okay,” P.K. says, sounding unsure, but he lets Ryan go.

It’s just the faintest concern, but P.K. is unhappy with his nest; if Ryan really concentrates, empties his mind, he can tell. It’s a minor unhappiness, but it’s there, and if he can fix it, he will. The first two rooms have only one pillow each, but he gathers them in his arms and continues on.

The third bedroom is the motherlode. Pillows and blankets galore, strewn on the bed, shoved in the closet. If Ryan didn’t know any better, he’d say this was P.K.’s real nest. He grabs as many pillows as he can handle and a blanket or two, and drags them back to the master bedroom. “What’s this?” P.K. asks, as Ryan gently deposits his found goods on the floor.

“For your nest. Hold on, lemme get some more,” Ryan tells him, and quickly heads back out for a second trip.

But P.K. is still sitting on the bed, unmoving, when Ryan gets back. There is an uncharacteristic frown on his face. “I have my nest,” he says.

“I guess I could be reading it wrong, but I don’t think you’re entirely happy with it.”

P.K. stares at him, opens his mouth - closes it again - then back open to speak. “You can tell?”

“It’s faint, but it’s there.” Ryan taps his head. “Maybe one more pillow?”

“Murr, I…” P.K. glances at his scattered pillows, then back to Ryan. “I really try to be low maintenance around this shit. Like I never wanted to be that Omega that spends hours on his nest getting everything _just-so.”_

“But…?” There’s a ‘but’ coming, Ryan thinks.

“I never wanted to be that Omega, but I am that Omega, I think.”

Ryan shrugs. “My old heat partner - Boone Jenner? - he was pretty particular about his, too. Besides, I just came twice. I could use a break. We can build it together. Just tell me what to do.”

P.K. sits up straighter. “You wanna help me build my nest?”

“Sure.”

“And I can tell you what to do?”

“Sure.”

P.K. is quiet for a moment, and Ryan can feel him poking at the bonds, as if testing the veracity of the statement. After a moment, he breaks into a big smile. “More blankets,” he declares loudly. “A lot more fucking blankets.”

That’s how Ryan spends his next hour: going from room to room on gathering assignments, grabbing whatever P.K. asks for as he meticulously builds what looks to Ryan to be a critical mass of pillows and a very exact amount of blankets and even a stuffed animal, a large lizard. “It’s an iguana,” P.K. tells him proudly. A flash of _Carey Price_ goes through Ryan’s mind, a surge of affection, and he’s sure there’s some story behind it. Maybe, he thinks, someday he’ll find out.

Finally, they’re done, and P.K. rolls around in it for a few moments before he’s satisfied. “Murr,” he says, inviting Ryan in; he takes the summons, sinking under the covers with P.K., warm skin-on-skin. Slowly, his rut is starting to take hold again, and when P.K. rolls against him, Ryan can tell he’s hard too. “I wanna ride you this time,” P.K. says. “But before I do, just...thanks. This is perfect.”

“Don’t gotta hide who you are with me,” Ryan says, splaying his hand along P.K.’s abs. God, they are really fucking nice.

“Sometimes, man...sometimes I just wanna do _soft,_ you know? I - here, look.” P.K. stops talking, but then the thoughts flood into Ryan’s mind. They’re not so much words as they are emotions, memories, feelings, and Ryan sits quietly, hugging P.K. and letting them wash over him. Ryan can feel the frustration and disappointment of how he’s held to different expectations: as an Omega, as a Black man in hockey, as someone outspoken and rowdy; the desire to be occasionally vulnerable, and the fear that comes with it; the exhaustion of trying to manage his public image.

Ryan’s not an Omega, and Ryan’s not Black, so he can never really understand what P.K. goes through, but he can empathize as best he can. He understands letting people down, breaking expectations, the terror of vulnerability, the carefully cultivated image of a professional athlete Alpha that isn’t actually anything like him. Still, he doesn’t try to send back his own experiences, he just lets P.K. open up, and tries to radiate warmth and acceptance back across the bond. There will be time enough for him later. “I’m soft as fuck, Subby,” Ryan tells him, after P.K. has finished. “I get it.”

“You wanna be soft as fuck together, Murr? Hard on the ice, soft in the bedroom?”

“Uh, I’m not sure anyone has ever described me as ‘hard’ even on the ice,” Ryan says, and P.K. giggles. “But yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

P.K. grins, cups his face and kisses him. “I know sometimes guys only do this once, during the heat and rut for bond purposes,” he says, kissing Ryan again. “But if you’re up for it, I’m thinking maybe this can be a semi-regular thing.”

“You just wanna see me in that g-string I talked about. Wait - did you _buy_ me one?” P.K. is not doing a good job of hiding it through the bond.

P.K.’s grin sharpens. “Can’t get anything past you, can I? So you’ll wear it?”

“I’ll wear it,” Ryan says, sighing playfully. “Whatever you want, P.K.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” P.K. says, and kisses him again, and again, and again - 

Each kiss softer than the last.


End file.
